Can a dead heart feel?
by Sanshal
Summary: Sam knew he was taking a huge risk- agreeing to this spell meant he would either risk losing everything or he would- for once- be able to save Dean. And given Dean was sporting black eyes-literally- these days; there was a good chance things wouldn't go according to plan. But then again, Sam wasn't a Winchester for nothing.
1. Chapter 1

_**Title: Can a dead heart feel?**_

_**Warning: Demon!Dean**__( But don't worry; he'll have (at least a few) redeeming characteristics and I don't think I could write him as __evil__ evil you know?_

_**A/N**__- __S-10 speculation__. I'm NOT putting this in warnings because I'm fairly cent percent sure that show will not proceed like my fic._

_**Summary**__- Sam knew he was taking a huge risk- agreeing to this spell meant he would either risk losing everything or he would- for once- be able to save Dean. And given Dean was sporting black eyes-literally- these days; there was a good chance things wouldn't go according to plan._

_But then again, Sam wasn't a Winchester for nothing._

_Being a demon was boring, Dean_ decided.

Sure, there was the blood and pain and killing bit; he'd enjoyed eliminating certain things single-handedly that he'd never thought he'd be able to handle without serious back-up while still alive; but it got old soon.

_You could always see how Sam was...? _The mark whispered in his mind.

He ruthlessly shut out the thought. Sure, being around Sam seemed to lessen the hold Cain's mark had over him; his brother's mere presence silencing its constant demand for blood. But Dean couldn't afford to let himself become that dependent on Sam. For once life had deemed it okay to grant his brother a reprieve; he wasn't going to do anything to change that- Sam knew he was a demon. And that he was okay. That had to be enough.

_It just had to._

He was just debating where to channel his bloodlust when he felt the slight tug calling him through space and time.

Dean paused.

He knew it was to be expected- _had expected his brother to call him sooner, in fact; _but sending out his senses to trace the faint signature on the summons had him pulling short. _This wasn't Sam..._

He couldn't imagine who would want to summon a knight of Hell- it wasn't an expert summoning that would force him to obey, but curiosity had him answering the call nevertheless. Closing his eyes he let the spell carry him to the caller.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to find himself in a dusty old warehouse, but the absence of a devil's trap to hold him came as something of a novelty.

"Huh," He said, taking in the large crate on the far side of the room and the scrawny pimpled teen with the ritual ingredients still spread in front of him.

"Where did you come from?" The boy yelped, jumping back on knobby knees.

Dean raised an eyebrow, allowing the kid to take in his black eyes and smirking at the obvious fear in the young face.

The boy swallowed, visibly bringing himself under control once he realized Dean was simply standing (_so far, at least) _and questioned, "Uh... are- Are you Mr. Winchester?"

Dean felt his curiosity grow even as a thin tendril of anger began to form- obviously this was some sort of trap. Nevertheless he jerked his head in acknowledgement.

"I-uh... I have a delivery for you," The boy stuttered out, holding out a pen and sheaf of paper for him to sign.

Dean couldn't help but laugh, his blade manifesting in his hand without conscious thought: "Really? You think I'm _that _stupid?"

The boy's eyes widened at the bone-knife in his hand and he instinctively stepped back, "Sir, please... I'm just the delivery boy!"

"Yeah, last I checked," Dean snorted, peering at the logo on the boy's uniform, "BlueDart didn't do personalized deliveries to hell."

He could see the boy begin to panic but he had to commend the kid for not breaking character when he kept mumbling that he was a simple delivery boy, taking a matching step back for each step forward that Dean took. Getting tired of the game Dean simply materialized behind the teen, the blade held at the ready at his jugular and his blood chanting for him to make the kill.

"Wait!" The boy screamed out, dropping the paper and pen to dig in his pocket for something even as a sour smell suddenly permeated the air around them.

Still unsure why he was listening to the request of a snivelling teen that had obviously been sent to destroy him, Dean took a step back and wrinkled his nose at the wet patch on the boy's jeans.

"Dude!" he muttered, "Hunting is so not the career for you!"

"Don't kill me, please- don't kill me!" he boy begged pushing something out towards him.

Dean drew back violently at the unexpected gesture but when nothing happened he focussed on the fisted hand held out to him.

"I was told to give you this if you got angry! They said this would keep me safe!"

"They?" Dean asked as he debated whether he should risk satisfying his curiosity to see what was being given to him.

"He!" The boy corrected immediately, "Tall- _and I mean really tall-_ dude with long hair?"

Dean paused. _Sammy?_

"What's in your hand?" He demanded, ready to spring back if it was any sort of hex.

But what was held out had his knees nearly bucking as a long lost bronze figurehead that he'd once held dear was held out to him. Throwing caution to the winds he snatched the amulet out of the boy's hand, feeling the faint scent of Sam still clinging to the little charm beneath the boy's –_disgustingly_- sweaty musk.

"Does –does this mean you'll accept the de-del- delivery?" The boy asked after a moment.

Dean jerked; he'd momentarily forgotten the boy's existence as he tried to remember if he'd noticed Sam rescue the amulet from the bin all those years ago. "Yes."

He let the boy go- something that would have the demons back home questioning his sanity no doubt- but he was simply too curious to waste even the minute it would take to kill the delivery-boy.

He hoped curiosity didn't kill the cat. ... _And damn, Sammy had him comparing himself to a cat now!_ He really hoped whatever the box held would be worth this embarrassment even if there was nobody around to witness it.

Dean neared the box with trepidation; while he didn't exactly think his brother _wanted_ to kill him outright, he wasn't sure _what_ he would send Dean either. He paused when he noticed the breathing holes cut into the lid of the crate. ..._A pet?_

Wasn't likely... But Hell help him if he knew what else it could be.

With barely any effort he managed to pry the thick lid off, taking care not to let it fall inward in case it did turn out to be a pet.

When he finally peered in, he was glad he had taken the precaution; even though the unexpected _delivery_ caused his long dead heart to stutter once.

_What the Hell was Sam thinking?!_


	2. Chapter 2

Wide hazel eyes blinked up at him briefly and just when Dean was sure they were getting ready to burst into tears; the tiny- _perfect-_ pink lips opened to reveal tiny pearly whites as a voice – _way higher than he'd remembered- _ called out cheerfully, "Dee!"

Dean swallowed- even if he could barely remember a time when Sam had been less than two feet tall, he could clearly remember that call. Still unsure how the child wasn't freaking out over his demon-black eyes, he called out a hesitant, "Sammy?"

"Dee!" Was the happy response to his question and the demon had to pause to catch his breath.

_What the Hell was Sam thinking? _He found himself asking again. But then again, it was possible that Sam had gotten afoul of some witch-_Damn, he hated witches!-_ and had been forced to resort to seeking Dean out. Which brought him to another question- _Was this pint sized version of his little brother in possession of his memories?_

Had to be; he guessed, because otherwise this version of Sam wouldn't recognize Dean as he was now..._Right?_

"Dee!" His name was repeated for a third time- this time the tone more petulant than happy and accompanied by the definite sound of a stomping foot.

Dean shook his head, remembering that Sam never liked being ignored by his brother and headed back to the crate. Reaching in awkwardly to pull the child out and grateful that irrespective of what had been done to him by whatever spell, Sam seemed to trust him enough to allow him to lift him out.

He couldn't help the snigger at the concept though; his brother- _when normal sized, at least-_ could have used it as a foot-stool but this teeny-tiny version wasn't even high enough to reach the edge of the wooden box. The thought made him glance down in surprise.

Sammy- _and he couldn't think of this two-foot nothing version of his baby bro as 'Sam'-_ seemed content to stay curled up in his arms. Grateful that the mark had fallen absolutely silent for once, he brushed a hand through the silken brown strands, unable to resist blowing a raspberry on the rosy cheek at the soft giggle the action elicited.

"What happened to you, huh; Sammy?"

The child- _and he was loath to think of the boy as anything but till he had undeniable proof-_ simply smiled beatifically at him and pressed a tiny warm palm against his cheek. "Hung-gy"

Dean shook his head, unable to keep the smile hidden any longer as he remembered how Sam had mangled his 'R's and 'N's till he was six. ..._huh; that meant this version was younger than that._

His grip tightened instinctively on the small body when he thought of all the memories of _his_ Sam in this tiny version as well. He cast a quick glance at the child in his arms and not noticing the boy having any obvious mental issues relaxed slightly. _Thank God for small mercies._

Insistent tapping on his cheek by small palms brought him out of his musing.

"_Hung-gy_." The boy demanded; the accompanying pout and puppy-eyes already perfected.

"Yeah, okay; let's get you something to eat..." he debated suitable options before offering, "happy meal?"

Hazel eyes widened as the child emphatically shook his head, "Ice- kim!"

Dean grinned, "Ice-cream it is."

_Figuring out what had been done to his brother could wait._


End file.
